


Trick of Light

by Valour (Reccea)



Category: Popslash
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-15
Updated: 2010-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:37:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reccea/pseuds/Valour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin twists the right way, like a diamond, and he glitters for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick of Light

_a dash of truth spread thinly  
like a flag on a popstar  
on a benzodiazapene _

It's seeing Justin for the first time. Only not really. He thinks that Justin has too many facets to ever be seen clearly. And so few of those facets are pleasing on their own. Justin twists the right way, like a diamond, and he glitters for everyone. Lance never really saw the appeal.  
The TV Guide shoot is the first time he feels a glimmer of interest. It's the first time that any one aspect of Justin is unusual enough to strike his notice. Silvery eye shadow painted on one eye, and it looked as if he'd had marcasite decorating his eyelid. It caught the light, sparkling as he moved. It caught Lance's attention.

Stepping out of the dressing room, Lance fidgets with his clothes and tries to ignore the way his cheek feels tight under his makeup. He thinks it was eyeliner they painted on, over the blue shadow, but he isn't sure. He's reminding himself not to smile to broadly, afraid that something might crack, when he sees Justin.  
For a moment, breath lodged in his throat, Lance's heart stops. Sees Justin with lips glossed and one eye done up and thinks, _oh_. But then Justin smiles in his cocky way, and the light refracts off him just a little differently.  
Lance relaxes and goes back to seeing Justin only in normal lines.

\-----  
JC is going through a "save the environment" phase and he's been insisting on carpooling. Or at least that's what he tells Lance right before filming starts, so Lance obligingly climbs into JC's car the next morning and the two mornings after. It gets JC to the studio on time and Lance figures that, on its own, is worth the sacrifice.

It's the last day of the shoot, and Lance has left his silent film alter ego behind in the dressing room. He's happier for it, more comfortable in his own skin than anyone else's. It's a new feeling and he revels in it, just a little.

He comes into the main room where JC, Chris, and Joey are getting ready to leave. Justin's still in makeup, he knows. Biggest part, most makeup, longest time on set. He would've felt bad for the guy if Justin wasn't so clearly pleased with it all.

Joey is gathering his things into his duffel, and under his breath he's humming _Gone_. Lance, personally, could go at least another week without hearing the song again. Even Joey's obscene version of it. But, apparently, even three full days of listening to the track over and over again during filming hasn't been enough to dampen Joey's appreciation.

"C, man," Chris sighs. "You throw away your underwear. Every day. I don't think carpooling is really going to make up for the sheer number of your Calvins that are being dumped into landfills."

"Every little bit helps," JC says firmly. He still has gel in his hair, slicking it back against his skull.

Chris rolls his eyes. "Fine. Whatever."

JC gives him a look.

"I'll think about it," Chris adds after a moment.

"That's all I ask." JC smiles, clearly pleased.

"Now will you just come with me?" Chris reaches out for JC's hand.

"Chris, no." JC shakes his head and pulls back. "I told you. Carpooling."

Chris frowns. "We covered that, C."

JC laughs. "No, man. I carpooled today. I drove Lance in. I have to take him home."

"Joe!" Chris grabbed Joey's arm as he walked by.

"Can't." Joey said, wrenching his sleeve deftly from Chris's grasp. "Meeting up with Kelly, man. Can't be late. I'll see you guys in the morning, okay?"

"Joey." Chris frowned tragically, brown eyes wide. Lance smiled to himself. He may have left his silent film character behind, but Chris, it seemed, has not. It oddly suits Chris, more than Lance would have thought.

"Some things are more important than your twisted agenda, Kirkpatrick," Joey says firmly, eyes twinkling.

Chris turns back to JC. "Please?"

"Lance," JC replies, folding his arms across his chest.

"JC…" Chris is pointedly ignoring Lance's presence in the room.

"Lance." JC is clearly unmoved, despite the smile turning the corners of his mouth.

"JC!"

"Lance." JC looks resolute, face turned to the window.

"I can get a ride with Justin." Lance leans back against the wall. "It's not a big deal."

"Are you sure?" JC asks, his face brightens, eyes going alight.

"He's sure." Chris answers. "Say goodbye, JC," he orders, already dragging JC to the door.

"Goodbye JC," he says with practiced ease. He waves as the door shuts behind him.

Lance smiles fondly, shakes his head, and heads off to Justin's trailer.

 

The makeup girl slowly detaches the mustache, and Justin's whispering in her ear, smiling his megawatt charming smile. He's making her laugh, of course. And when he says something in a low voice she responds by pulling her hand from the make up kit and reaching out to swipe a finger over his lips. When her hand comes away from Justin, his lips sparkle in the bright lights of the mirror. He's got gloss on but Chaplin still outlines his eyes.

Lance coughs softly, carefully polite, and Justin meets his eyes. There's something there that Lance can't quite read, and he frowns. The girl backs away from Justin quickly, blushing, and Lance immediately smiles at her because he certainly hadn't meant to make her nervous. She presses a small jar into Justin's palm and grabs her bag.

"Sorry," she whispers, ducking her head as she passes Lance and slips out the door. Lance watches her go, his mouth tight and his brow furrowed.

"Way to scare them off, Bass." Justin smirks, pulling off Chaplin's button up shirt. The vest has already been hung up on the rack next to him.

"Yeah, well," Lance shrugs. "It wasn't intentional, so…"

Justin pulls the shirt off and throws it at Lance's head. "Make yourself useful, bitch." He has a twinkle in his eye, and his smile is different from normal. Nervous, maybe, but Lance is distracted by the shine on his lips. Justin hands over the hanger and pulls off his undershirt.

Lance rolls his eyes but takes the hanger. "What's with the lip gloss?" Lance asks as he hooks the shirt around the hanger.

Justin stuffs the undershirt into his bag and then takes a step closer to the mirror. He fingers the gloss, wiping away excess from his bottom lip. "I was going to go out. Try something different." The shadows are mostly cleared from his face by the intensity of the row of lights around the mirror. But his eyes, heavily lined, look darker, a deeper blue.

"It's different," Lance allows, eyes lingering on Justin's lips.

"What's up? I thought you were leaving with C?" Justin toes off his shoes, slips them on the flat rack.

"Chris is making him go somewhere. I wasn't really clear on the details." Lance shrugs.

"The Kirkpatrick mating ritual is at work." Justin wiggles his eyebrows, and Lance is reminded that those too have been colored in.

Lance raises both eyebrows in response. "I didn't think you'd noticed."

"The mighty Timberlake sees all and knows all." Justin waves his hands with a flourish. His merry expression falls a little. "Seriously. They've been flirting for months. I'm not completely clueless, you know.

"No, I know," Lance agrees. He just hadn't been under the impression that Justin had wanted to notice. He hooks the hanger on the bar. "So, I can call a cab or whatever."

"Aw, someone needs a ride." Justin unbuttoned his pants. He grins cheekily at Lance, his eyes bright and his face merry again.

Lance quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head, amused. "Don't worry about it."

"No, no." Justin puts his hand on Lance's chest. "Come with me."

"It's been a long week, J. And we're meeting up for breakfast, remember?" Lance pulls away slightly.

Justin shucks his pants and hands them and the hanger to Lance. "You are not getting old before your time. I refuse to believe it." He digs around in his bag for his jeans and Lance makes himself useful. He folds the pants over the hanger and hooks it in between the shirt and vest.

"You just want someone to drive you home," Lance smirks.

"You wound me," Justin makes a tragic face that is surprisingly enhanced by the makeup on his face.

"I know you," Lance replies. "I'll call a cab. You have a good time and I'll mock you when you come in completely hung over."

"Hey, Lance. No." Justin has his jeans in one hand and with the other he reaches out for Lance's bare forearm. "Come with me." There's a slice of light across his eyes and a vulnerable expression that is completely new to Lance. Justin actually looks like he's afraid Lance will say no. Lance is surprised and doesn't quite know what to make of it.

Justin pulls his hand away and slips his feet into his jeans. He pulls them up over his hips and buttons them. "I just want to go dancing. It'll be fun. I won't even make you the designated driver." He zips them up and meets Lance's eyes. "Promise."

Lance blinks. "I…"

"Come out and dance with me," Justin says softly, without a hint of his normal smug attitude. "Please."

Lance is really pretty tired, but it's been a while since Justin seemed this set on his company. It's been a long while since Justin seemed anything but certain.

"We can go as we are." Justin eyes Lance's jeans and plain white shirt. "I know a place." He slips a black wife-beater over his head, pulls it down to meet the low rise of his tight fitting jeans. It's not a new look, per se, but Justin's only just started really wearing it out.

Justin's hair is still new and no one's really gotten a good look at it. Head shaved and people don't recognize him so immediately. He looks taller to Lance, older suddenly. His shoulders seem broader, muscles more pronounced, and even if Lance knows that the only genuine difference is the loss of curls, it doesn't matter.

Eyeliner and lip gloss, but Justin's still clearly shed the boy. A man, the last of them to hit that stage, but Lance's pretty sure that it was worth the wait.

"Okay," Lance finds himself saying, nodding without even thinking about it.

Justin smiles, slow and sweet, his teeth gleaming. "Cool." He wraps his hand tightly around Lance's wrist and pulls him to the door. "It isn't far."

\-----

The club is darker than he expected, with random colored lights cutting through at odd intervals. It's muggy, the heat of too many bodies covered in sweat. Lance is glad he isn't wearing anything more elaborate because his shirt is already clinging to his skin and he hasn't even made it to the bar yet.

Justin's hand is on his elbow, his hip pressed against Lance's side. He's scanning the room with lined eyes, looking alien in ribbons of colored light. The people around them are in various states of dress and it's pretty clear that there is no theme to this place, no particular code.

The VIP section is up a small set of steps in the corner and Lance heads that way without a second glance. The jog up is short and the music is already louder, pulsing deeper in through his chest. The lights are somehow less blinding on this second level, most of them aimed at the floor below, Lance guesses. The bar to the right is lined with bottles just the colors he prefers, and he turns to Justin to say something. But Justin's eyes are closed, his hips already gone with the beat.

Lance smiles, a wry twist to his mouth, and turns back, eyes on the scotch. But Justin's hand is on his bicep, pressing tight. His eyes are open now, an intent stare and he leans in to be heard over the pounding bass.

"No, no, no." Justin pulls him away from the bar. "No." He repeats firmly.

Lance arches an eyebrow, is about to say something, when Justin presses close. "We're not here to watch, Bass. No voyeurism for you."

"I am not—"

Justin puts a finger to Lance's lips, halting his protest. "You're dancing with me." He looks at Lance through darkened, half-hooded eyes. "You're dancing with me," he repeats, twists the plea into an order. Justin has his hands on Lance's hips and he guides them out onto the dance floor. His fingers burn against Lance's skin as they slip half under the shirt.

Lance lets himself be led.

\----

Justin's hands are tight on his shirt, body pressing Lance into the crowd. The dance floor on this level is smaller, but it's still crowded with people. Bodies twisting from the patches of darkness to the flashing lights. Lance backs in carefully, guided by Justin's steady press, and lets his body find the beat.

It's fast and steady, techno with a deep pulse underneath. Lance knows how he looks when he dances on his own but Justin's face is intent, his mouth firm, so Lance moves as best he can.

There are too many people around them, there always are, and Justin pushes in close within minutes, with the switch to a new song. His hips brush against Lance's from time to time, his arms occasionally reaching out with purpose. Lance keeps his eyes open, keeps them trained on the gleaming mouth and lined eyes. Justin never looks away.

\-----

It's Lance that gets lost in the music. Eyes closed, guided by the sure movements of Justin in front of him, he dances. He only notices belatedly that Justin's stopped when he feels the warmth of Justin's body pull away.

Justin digging in his front pocket, a frown marring his face.

"What?" Lance shouts over the music, irritated suddenly.

"You don't fit in!" Justin shouts back.

Before Lance can get pissed about the comment Justin leans in close and presses his fingers against Lance's lips. They feel cool and slick. Lance pulls back, startled, his face flushing.

Justin has the jar of gloss in one hand, and he pulls the other back, smiling. "Much better," he mouths and Lance can almost hear him.

Lance licks his lips and doesn't say a word.

\----

Lance hasn't hit the bar once but he still feels light-headed. He's parched and breathless, body pleasantly sore. It's getting late, he can tell just by the way the dance floor is slowly clearing.

"We should—" Lance's throat aches and he's not sure if Justin can even hear. "We should go."

Justin eyes him for a moment, his face impossible to read, and then he nods sharply. His hand is hot on Lance's arm. "Yeah."

Lance pulls away slowly and then ducks down the stairs, his feet carrying him faster than the rhythm of the music. His heart is racing still, even when he reaches the car.

\-----

 

Justin parks his car in Lance's driveway and keys off the ignition. There's something tense coiled in him so Lance doesn't say anything when he climbs out of the car. He just waits for Justin to follow.

He flicks his hall lights on and is momentarily blinded by the bright florescence. His white walls gleam and Lance blinks rapidly to clear his vision. He turns to Justin, not sure how to move exactly. "You can stay," he says, his voice echoing in the tiled hall.

He's about to elaborate, the words already awkward on his tongue, but Justin is in his space suddenly. Leaning over him, hedging him in against the wall. Lance blinks again, if only because Justin's so close and his eyes are so black, absorbing the light.

Justin's mouth is hard against his, their lips slick and sliding. Lance can't remember the last time he kissed a girl with gloss on her lips but he knows it didn't taste like this. It didn't feel like this.

Justin braces his hands against the wall, well-muscled arms framing the space around Lance's head. Lance slips his palms against Justin's waist, fingers sliding slick against the damp shirt, thumbs slipping under.

Justin growls deeply, deeper than Lance thought he could, and grinds his hips into Lance's. Forcing him into the wall. Justin thrusts his knee between Lance's thighs, his leg hard against Lance. It's hard, Justin's mouth hot, and it's too much. Lance breaks away, breathing harshly in the silence.

Justin pulls back too, chest heaving. His mouth glistens under the bright light.

"Justin," Lance shakes his head.

"What?" Justin ducks his head back down, breath hot against Lance's neck. "You don't think—" He inhales sharply. "She's fucking other people. You think I don't know?"

Lance certainly hadn't. "I…"

Justin pulls his head up, looks at Lance with glassy eyes. It's impossible to see his pupils clearly, liquid interrupting the hall lights. "Please," his voice is soft, needy. A voice Lance can't remember ever hearing. It makes his stomach clench, his throat ease. When Justin kisses him again, Lance doesn't pull away.

 

They're clumsy going up the stairs. Lance can't be bothered with the light switches, doesn't care and they stumble in the darkness to the bedroom. Justin's hands are dry and rough as he pulls Lance's shirt up and over. They're strong when he pushes Lance back into the bed. There's a small sliver of moonlight through a crack in the curtains and Lance can see that the eyeliner's been smudged. Smeared up across his lid. There's a dash of glitter across Justin's cheek that must have come from someone on the dance floor. It gleams against Justin's pale skin, reflects brilliantly into Lance's eyes.

Lance realizes he doesn't care where in the room he threw Justin's shirt. Focuses, instead, on getting Justin's belt loose and on the whines Justin's making high in his throat. Focuses on Justin's sweat damp skin and the shadow he casts when he kneels over Lance.

In the darkness all Lance can see is the brilliant white of Justin's eyes and teeth. The slick shine of his wet lips. Fingers dig in hard on Lance's shoulders as Justin moves with him. _It's enough,_ Lance thinks.

Justin's breathless against him and it's more than enough.

 

\----

 

Lance is running late the next morning. He'd never managed to set the alarm. He walks into Joey's house without bothering to knock. He can hear utter chaos already so he knows he's probably the last to arrive. His eyes are gritty and his body aches in all the important places. Lance can't wait for coffee so he slips his keys into his pockets on his way through the foyer.

He hears them in the hallway. Hears her sweet high voice; only catches "surprise visit."

Lance fingers his throat, feels the raised rash of beard burn. But he knows that it isn't all that different from so many mornings Britney's spent in Lance's company. He ignores the guilt building in his throat and pushes open the kitchen door.

Justin has his hand on her hip, spanning the side of it easily. His face is shadowed, dark and unreadable. His eyes are locked on the hand pressing against her. Britney looks to the door and sees Lance first. She smiles a genuine, brilliant smile, delighted to see him as always.

Lance wonders if it's the last real smile she'll ever give him.

Justin's smile is slight, a bare acknowledgment. His lips look dry, chapped, and pale.

There's a chorus of three other guys talking along the kitchen table, a cacophony that sounds clouded to Lance's ears. He only hears Justin's rough "morning" and sees the shadows under his eyes.

Lance swallows, tightly, as he presses a kiss to Britney's cheek by way of hello. His face aches from his smile and bloodshot eyes and Lance tells himself, _it's okay._

Justin doesn't meet his eyes.

 

 _But it's fine,_ Lance thinks distantly. _It was just a trick of light anyway._


End file.
